


Not Enough

by hayvocado



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Breakups, Cheating, F/M, I'm so sorry for this, someone give this man a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:13:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7102912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayvocado/pseuds/hayvocado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years with Matt.<br/>Five months with Daredevil.<br/>One night with the Punisher. </p>
<p>It all went so wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Enough

**Author's Note:**

> this happened at four am

Your footsteps sound like gunshots as you make your way up the stairs. Maybe that's just the way that Matt hears everything. Loud as hell and never a secret. What you just did? It should be a secret. Forever. No one but you and Frank should ever know about it, and no one will.

Okay, that's a lie.

Matt will know because Matt always knows because he's _Matt_. He's gonna smell something or hear something--probably your goddamn sledgehammer of a heart--or just know something because it's what he does.

You regret everything from the last 24 hours. You never should have contacted him, the fucking _Punisher_! The fact that you even talked to the guy would be enough to drive Matt crazy.

You just thought that maybe if you could talk to him, you could figure out why, y’know? I mean, yeah, Matt's Daredevil, and yeah, he does what he does to protect people, but who's to say that Frank isn't doing the same thing? Maybe for him, doing what he does is his way of righting wrongs and doling out justice.

***

When you finally got a message out, the two of you met in a janky diner downtown, half past midnight. In all honesty, you didn't think for a second he would meet you. He probably read up on you, or at least stalked you for a while. He wouldn't have agreed to see you if he found out that you were working for the cops or something. He must’ve discovered that you were a shitty paralegal for a shittier law firm run by Dork 1 and Dork 2.

At the diner, you'd gotten a glass of water and he'd gotten cup after cup of hellfire hot black coffee. The first fifteen minutes of your meeting were spent in silence, him staring out the foggy windows, you shamelessly staring at him.

It wasn't as if he didn't know you were gawking either. The permanent smirk on those stupid lips let you know that he was well aware of it. It was just pretty unbelievable that you were sitting across the table from arguably the most dangerous man in the nation, drinking coffee at one in the morning.

“So you just gonna stare, or did we meet up for a reason?” He’d asked over the rim of his mug. The smirk on his face looked to be painful, seeing as his top lip had a significant little split in it. The bruising along his nose and cheekbones stood out against his olive skin.

“Just thought I'd take a moment to assess the situation.” You said quietly, tracing your finger through the condensation puddle next to your water glass.

“And what is it that you've deduced, Princess?” You quirked a brow at the nickname, but otherwise remained stoic.

“You're not as terrifying as I'd assumed.” His lips turned down and he nodded his head slowly.

“Coming after a man’s ego isn't the kindest thing in the world, sweetheart.”

“Didn't think the Punisher would need a bunch of fluffing.” You smirked at the decently surprised look he'd sent your way before taking another sip of his drink.

Another few moments of silence, and he finally finished his coffee, pushing the cup aside. He leaned his crossed arms onto the table and squinted at you from beneath the brim of his baseball cap.

“Why am I here?”

“Well,” you started, leaning towards him and mirroring his pose, resting your forearms in front of you. “I just wanted to know a few things.”

“Don't we all, sweetheart,” he huffed out.

“Shut up.” It took you a few seconds to realize that you’d just told a trained assassin to shut up, but you carried on, trying not to let your fear crackle into your words. “I just want to know why, is all.”

“Hmm?”

“Well why do you do what you do? Not to sound like a conspiracy theorist, but it's kind of all that anyone wants to know.” His response was a simple furrow of his brow, and a purse of his lips. You went on.

“You kill people, big deal. People die every day. It just seems that the people that you kill are the ones that actually deserve it. Maybe you're avenging someone’s death, maybe you're doling out justice on your own terms, I don't really care. I just kind of refuse to believe you're a bad guy. You've been through too much shit to just turn dark side for no reason.”

You were met with a wall of silence as Castle stared you down. His shark black eyes roamed over your face, probably trying to finds a hole in your claims. Something just big enough to jab his finger--or maybe a bullet--through, to rip your words apart. His brows furrowed as he leaned towards you an inch further.

You tilted your head a fraction of an inch, regarding him as well. At that moment, you felt incredibly open, at least in comparison to the impassive gunman before you. His sloping features all looked like they'd fractured into stone. The expression wasn't totally one of aggression, but it also didn't make you wanna hug the man like a teddy bear.

You almost flinched when his face split into a lopsided grin. Not that you didn't love the image of the man smiling, but it was a bit of a U-turn compared to the sly smirks and death stares you were used to seeing on him. Okay, you _really_ loved his smile.

“You wanna get outta here?”

His husky voice felt like it dropped a few octaves and you weren't sure if he did it on purpose, or if it was just you. The question itself held high volumes of suggestiveness, and no loyal girlfriend would allow the tone to make her thighs clench, but hey. Loyalty is in the eye of the cheater.

Your gaze darted down to your fingers, which were currently trailing designs into the condensation on your water glass. When you looked back up at Frank, his eyes were already on yours, burning through you intensely. Your veins tightened.

“Okay.”

***

After you pace back and forth in front of you and your boyfriend's apartment door for nearly a quarter of an hour, you finally ass up and pull out your keys before your brain gets the chance to regret it. _What the hell am I doing?_  You think. _My_  lovely _boyfriend is probably out there protecting his city._ Scoffing, you relax a bit and start jabbing the keys at the door. You miss the keyhole a couple of times, and suddenly remember that you and Frank had a few--okay a bit more than a few--drinks back at his place.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Matt is no doubt going to smell it all over you. You feel a pang of fear, disgrace, and abhorrence contort around in your gut. You shouldn't have done this to Matt. Hell, you're still in denial of the fact that you did this to Matt. How fucking horrendous could you be?

You groan in disgust and finally unlock the door, half-stumbling through the entryway. Whence you right yourself, you clumsily take off your shoes, which are hardly zipped up. When you staggered out of Frank’s apartment, they'd been in your hand, but being the elegant lady you are, you half-assedly shoved them back onto your feet in the backseat of a taxi.

Classy, Y/N.

Toeing them the rest of the way off, you begin to make your inebriated way into the kitchen to grab yourself a glass of water. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet and turning to the sink, you start running the water. A million thoughts are running through your head, but the only iota you find yourself capable of focusing on is a tiny echo of one word.

_Matt_.

“Home late, love?”

The honey-coated voice that you've been dreading rings out from across the room. You nearly drop your glass and your whole body jerks as if you've been electrocuted. You turn towards the living room, eyebrows chasing your hairline. He's leaning against the back of the couch, thick arms crossed over his chest.

“Matt! Hey. I thought you were out Daredeviling.” You huff out a weak laugh, immediately wanting to punch yourself for how guilty you sound. ‘ _I thought you were busy not being here so I could sneak home after a steamy affair._ ’

“It was a quiet night.” His voice is tight, and every syllable makes your chest constrict painfully. “You’re home late.” He repeats himself, this time more forcefully.

Your brain starts clawing for a lie, but it's as if every story you think of dissipates into mist before you can grab onto it. You can feel your mouth opening and closing stupidly, and you're glad Matt can't see how horrifically flustered you are.

“Uh, y-yeah. Um I just--I just got back so I um I need t-to go to bed. I’m pretty tired.” If Matt didn't hear the lie, he really had no business being Daredevil, or a lawyer, for that matter. “Night, Matty.”

You put your glass down on the counter and start shuffling towards that bedroom, past Matt. He steps around the couch and stands just in front of you. You're five billion percent sure that he can hear your heart trying to knock down your apartment walls.

“What's wrong, babe?” The endearment is too sharp. All of his words are usually rounded out, softness breathed through them. The consonants are too clipped and it makes your throat tighten.

“N-nothing. I'm good.”

“You're lying.”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” You sway as you speak but you cover it with a halfhearted laugh. You begin to walk around him again. “Good ni-”

“I can smell him on you.” His low voice makes your hammering little heart start to beat so fast you aren't completely sure you can feel it at all. _It_  is _still beating, right?_. You stop in your tracks, not even bothering to turn around completely.

“W-what?”

“I can _smell_ him, Y/N.”

A rush of air leaves your body, and you aren't sure if it's a sob or a gasp, but you have to slap a hand over your mouth to keep your whimpering noises in. Your shoulders are shaking harder than they possibly should without physically lifting you off of the ground.

“You smell of Jim Beam, gunpowder, leather, and,” he pauses to scoff, “like sweat. Clean sweat. Sex sweat, Y/N. Yours, his, it's all over you.” The minute hitch of his words makes your heart break and you finally turn towards him.

“Matt, I-”

“Don't lie to me.”

His voice is dripping in icicles dripping in poison dripping in hate. Your body honest to god trembles.

“I’m sorry. I didn't-” you cut yourself off before your stupid mouth can get you into even more trouble. “I just wanted to know him. I wanted to know why you were so goddamn determined to take him down, a guy that does _exactly_ what you do Matty!” He flinches at the nickname and you want to reach out and snatch back your words. You don't deserve to call him that.

“He is just doing what you're doing! He's defending this city from people who do harm onto others, just like you-”

“He is _nothing_ like me!” You nearly jump out of your skin. Matt’s never raised his voice at you before, and you honestly want to crawl into a hole and die. Disappointment etches itself into the lines of his face, and your fingers ache to smooth them out like you always do. A thumb across his brow, your fingertips over his forehead creases, a kiss to his nose.

You'll never get that again. You've lost your right.

“I’m-I’m sorry, Matt, I just…”

“You just what?”

Yeah, Y/N. You just what? You needed to let off some steam because your absentee boyfriend was busy making other people’s lives better and leaving yours a haze of worrying and fear? You just bumped into Frank, crotch first? You just missed falling asleep next to someone in bed with you, so you just jumped into the closest willing person’s?

“I’ll just leave.”

You turn and walk towards the bedroom again, this time making it all the way through the doorway. Grabbing a duffel from the bottom of your shared closet, you throw it onto the bed, yanking open four of the eight drawers on the dresser. Not even paying attention to what you’re grabbing you start stuffing the bag. Shoving a handful of underwear, some shirts, and all four pairs of jeans you own into the bag, you let the floodgates open.

Tears begin to stream down your face as you remember what it used to be like with you two. He would actually hold you in bed after you'd have sex, instead of just shimmying back into his sweats and running out for whichever of his two jobs he was busy with that night. He would kiss you for longer than a few seconds. He would grab your face when you were making love. You would actually _make love_.

Swiping a hand under your nose, you step into the bathroom and sweep all of the stuff from your side of the sink into your bag. Figuring that's all you'll need for at least the next few nights, you swing the bag over your shoulder and move toward the door. Casting one last glance over your shoulder, you flip off the light and go back through to the living room.

Passing by Matt, you see that he's now seated on the arm of the couch, his head in his hands. That stupid fucking mop of hair is messy and all of the waves point in random directions. You move forward to smooth it down, but pause halfway.

_What the hell._

Laying a hand on his hair, you push back the unkempt fluffs and press a lingering kiss to the crown of his head. “Goodbye, Matthew.” You whisper, voice cracking. Pulling away, you smile sadly at the teardrop you left in his hair and brush it away, kissing his head once more before stepping away.

Walking towards the door, you pick up your purse and shove your toes back into your boots.

“Y/N?”

You turn back around, not sure what he's going to say. Does he want you to stay? Is he going to tell you to go get hit by a car?

“Do you love him?”

His voice is so weak that you're pretty sure you only hear him because everything else feels dead. There's a buzzing in your ears and something staticky in your chest.

“No, Matthew.” If you were to speak any louder than a whisper, you're positive your entire being would fracture into a million tiny pieces.

“Do you-”

If this man’s voice cracks one more time, you're sure you’ll leave this building, this city, change your name, and never allow yourself happiness ever again.

“Do you love me?”

The tears start up again, at first quietly, and then you're blubbering. The tears you see gathering in Matt's eyes make you shake your head, swiping at the tears on your cheeks. You move towards Matt again, wrapping your arms around him, not even trying to hold back your shaking and shuddering. His hands come up to grip onto your shirt as he cries quietly against your stomach.

“So much, Matty,” you twist at the hairs at the nape of his neck, the way that you know always calms him. “ _So_ damn much, baby.”

Matt pulls away then, hands sliding to rest on your hips. Those big brown puppy eyes of his end up resting somewhere around your chin. His fingers tighten in the fabric of your shirt and his chest jumps as he hiccups back another snivel.

“Then why?”

Shaking your head at the ceiling you ask yourself the same question over and over again. _Why did I do it_? There was no good reason. There never is. Cheating is a horrendous, disgusting, unforgivable thing that you've been victim to more than once. So why in the hell did you think that doing it to this wonderful, selfless man was alright?

“You're a good man, Matthew. I’m just not a good enough woman.”

You turn to walk out again, opening the door, and not even bothering to look back as you say

“I love you Matthew.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry Matt, I'm sorry readers, I'm sorry that I forgot to grab Frank's phone number.


End file.
